Admiring the Irish in Sheedy

August 10, 2003

It is said that the Irish are a race of people who love their friends and slaughter their enemies with equal enthusiasm. In more basic language, my dad used to say they would "rather have a fight than a feed". Kevin Sheedy's genetic chain is most definitely Irish.

The first time I saw him play was in 1967, and in the first quarter of the first practice match of the season, he was involved in a scuffle with Billy Barrot. I guess Billy had some kind of mortgage on the centre position at that stage and Sheeds was just letting him know that he wanted it. Sheedy has always been that way - tell him he couldn't do something and he would find a way to prove you wrong. He always wanted to take his football as far as it would go and his journey in the game bears testimony to that determination and belief.

As a player, he was told his kicking wasn't up to scratch, so he spent countless hours on it and ended up highly competent. Told he wasn't fast enough, he drove Richmond's sprint coach Bill Boromeo nuts, and while he never became a speed demon, he improved his technique and endurance to a level that was more than adequate. He was always besotted by the game, his passion now rewarded by his longevity.

He came to Richmond on a gamble. The then VFA had some dopey rule that if you crossed to the VFL without a clearance, you could never play again in any league. A tough penalty, but Kevin backed himself and even though he couldn't quite dislodge Barrot from the centre, he turned himself into one of the toughest and best back pocket players around.

I played alongside him for about three years and I can tell you, he was a hard man. Deep down, I think he enjoyed the "junkyard dog" image that he managed to forge in the last line of defence, but there was also a creative side to his game that he wanted to express.

He was probably the first footballer to take the "look away handpass" to new heights; he hit some teammates in the side of the head a few times, but once I worked out that there was a Polly Farmer/Barry Cable gene suppressed within, I got plenty of easy kicks (and who doesn't like those?).

In the 1972 grand final, Carlton's Trevor Keogh kicked three goals against Sheedy in the first half, which, ironically, launched Sheedy into the second phase of his career. In the second half, he was moved to half-forward/ruck-rover, and nearly turned the game with three goals. He played in that position in the next two grand finals and was probably Richmond's best player in consecutive premierships.

I coached him in 1977-78, the latter year with him as captain, and already he was a coach in the making. His biggest problem was occasionally getting ahead of himself, his theories on how to improve himself and, by association, the game, sometimes pushing the borders of practicality too far.

At a time when I was encouraging players to become proficient with both left and right foot, Kevin (to my horror) had a crack at a left-foot drop kick from a kick-in. The grateful recipient kicked it straight back over his head for a goal, but it was another example of him believing that there were no boundaries in football that you couldn't cross.

He once asked me if he could play centre half-back on Robert Walls in a pivotal game and, despite the mismatch in terms of height, I agreed. He did well, punching arms instead of the ball, harassing Robert to distraction and generally being such a pest that I don't think there is love lost between them to this day.

So, while Sheedy's well-documented coaching phase is what people think of when his name is mentioned these days, there is no doubt that his toughness, self-belief and a unique ability to perform against the odds as a player filtered through to Sheedy the coach.